


Damaged Goods

by iwillneverwakeupinside (threewornwords)



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst, F/M, Knives, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, death of sibling ((only briefly mentioned)), some dub-con??, some homophobic language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 00:38:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13470009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewornwords/pseuds/iwillneverwakeupinside
Summary: Sebastian Michaelis, a hot-headed, burly teen from a boring, 1980s East-Anglian town, meets Ciel Phantomhive - and not under the best of circumstances. Actually, Sebastian finds out Ciel has been getting members of the football team to pay him for... less than appropriate things. Sebastian is not happy with it, and so he decides to take a stand.





	Damaged Goods

Sebastian was sat at his school desk, tinny sounding headphones over his ears. They were the kind that are far too tight on your head no matter what you do, and made your cartilage ache. They were also connected to the newest Sony Walkman. In Sebastian’s eyes, it was either good headphones, or a good music player. The latter won by a long shot. 

For once, there was actually work on the surface in front of him; something or other about the presidents and whether he could list them all off in order from memory. Of course, he had done none of the work, but seeing him actually pick up a pencil and let his brain whirr slowly as he fumbled around with the words under his breath was a miracle in itself. Normally, he’d be quite happy doing so. His music helped him focus, any way. Only, in this class, he was seated next to a young man. Namely Bardroy. Or alternatively Bard if you didn’t want to lose a tooth. It wasn’t as if there was rivalry; Sebastian and Bard were friends. If you saw them at the right moments on especially good days, you may even have called them good friends. 

The two had common interests. Sports, girls, music. Most other things that would come with jockish boys their age, including the overflow of testosterone in their veins. Apart from physical appearance, there was one key difference. Although neither of them were at all smart, or anything close to that description - Sebastian had a slight amount of self awareness. 

Bard had none.

In fact, Bard was stood on his desk, the poor overburdened wooden legs shaking and creaking. He was busy interrupting Sebastian’s private listening session. Evidently, there was no teacher in the room at that moment.

“I have a preposition for all o’yas!” He bellowed, raising his fist in the air. The rest of the class responded heartily, with some giggles and whoops. 

“Shut your gob.” Sebastian muttered, already sounding like murder. Bard, unfortunately for him, didn’t hear what the other boy said, but did see his lips move, and flashed him a mischievous grin.

“My pa’s out somewhere for the night, and you all know how much a lonely place sucks…”

Bard was not exactly subtle with his announcement - he didn’t understand subtlety. Catching on quickly, the rest of the class buzzed with the news of a house party. Soon, the buzz turned into screaming, yelling, and thumping on the tables. Sebastian’s pencil rolled to the floor. He stood up slowly, snorting like a horse, and punched Bard’s arm to grab his attention. His headphones clattered to the floor in the process. 

“Bard, I said: shut your gob.”

“Or what?” Bard laughed.

“Or I’ll shut it for you mate!”  
With that, Bard decided to test how far he could push the other kid, but ended up getting pushed himself. Quite literally. The class fell into a tense silence as Bard went tumbling down onto the floor with a loud thud, he landed on his back, curling up into a ball and roaring with laughter. 

“What was that for?” He straightened up a little, just to see Sebastian head back to his seat, snatching up his headphones again - almost breaking them in frustration.

“I said shut up and let me do me fuckin’ work!”

Clambering back up onto his feet, Bard chuckled for the last time.

“Lighten up, piss-arse!”

****  
After his teacher had returned and kept him behind, chastising him for ‘violent behaviour’, Sebastian lumbered down the paint-chipped corridors, shoulders swaying with tense agitation that he needed to sweat out. He made his way to the locker rooms, rucksack tight around his arms. When he got to the mold-stained doors, he breathed a sigh of relief, face almost uncrumpling from its usual angry expression. Shoving his way in, he dropped his bag on one of the benched, hearing a few other people in there; their feet tapping on the wet floors. He ignored their conversation, which became a mixture of gruff rumbles and light whispers from the presumably younger ones. Sebastian didn’t care about locker room banter, all he wanted to do was get changed and go out for a run. He’d had enough of lessons, at least until lunch, and could deal with having a ruler rapped over his knuckles for his troubles. 

It was only when the conversation turned in a certain direction that he finally swivelled his head in the general direction of the boys, taking the time to recognise their voices. The boys there were in his football team: Edward Midford (a bit full of himself, but he and Sebastian were civil on the pitch), Joanne Harcourt (who was never seen without cuts and bruises on his twiggy knees, a crybaby, and the youngest of the team), and Charles Phipps (who spoke almost as little as Sebastian, and was seen as almost as intimidating).

“‘E’s not all bad, apparently… cheap too, if you know ‘ow to ask.” Edward pondered, voice cracking slightly for all its quietness.

“You’ll catch something.” grunted Phipps.

“Yeah, you probably will… don’t that make you a poof anyway, Edward?” Joanne 

“Me-? A-? No, it don’t. And don’t argue ‘cos I know more than you.”

Joanne sniggered, but then quickly shut up as Sebastian took a deep breath in, tugging off his school shirt and grabbing a tattered blue one, that smelt of sports. 

“You better not be a poof, Midford, because there ain’t no poofs allowed on our team.”

All three of the boys stood stock still, voices dead in their throats. That was possibly the longest sentence Sebastian had ever uttered to anyone. Edward was the first to speak up again, partially out of shock at, and partially to protect his mortally wounded pride. 

“I’m not a bloody poof! I… when did I say she was a lad? Joanne, you’re goin’ deaf, you are.”

“Oi! I am not going deaf!”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, pulling on his polo, muscles twitching slightly underneath. Edward’s attempts not to stare were almost comical.

“Who’s the kid?”

“Just this… this bird, okay? ‘Er name is-”

“Who’s the kid?”

Edward remained stubborn and silent; Charles was expressionless; Joanne, however, cowered and trembled, gulping like a fish out of water.

“I said: Who’s the-”

The dark-haired boy was quickly cut off from a small squeak - that of someone desperately trying to keep their mouth shut.

“‘Is name is Ciel Phantom’ive! Please don’t kill me!” 

Sebastian huffed. Then stuffed his bag and clothes into his locker, leaving the room. 

When he got to the football field, his legs ached to bolt around it, so he did. Tomorrow, he would find Ciel Phantomhive and give the idiot a piece of his mind.


End file.
